


What Happens at the Coast

by thenerdyindividual



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Awkward Flirting, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Pre-Mutagen Geralt, travelling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:47:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23522557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thenerdyindividual/pseuds/thenerdyindividual
Summary: Before the final trial to become Witchers, the entire class of Witchers is allowed to spend two moths away from Kaer Morhen. It gives them a chance to explore the world around them, and gives them one last chance to back out of training. It is Geralt's turn to explore, and he rides to the coast, and he meets someone.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 56
Kudos: 403





	1. Chapter 1

“We have many traditions in Kaer Morhen,” Vesemir intones, “And you are all being given the chance to participate in one now.”

The young men, all Witchers in training, kneel together in the dining hall. A neat row stretches the length of it. The only source of light is the fire in the center of the room. It backlights Vesemir, casting already stern features in shadow. 

Geralt’s knees ache. The cold stone floor offers no relief. Though, he supposes, after he becomes a Witcher things like pain won’t matter anymore. Much like emotion it will all become very distant. 

“You have reached the final stage of training. Many have not been so lucky, and some of you may yet crumble. 

“As tradition states, when you reach the final stage of training we must give you a chance to accept your path. The life of Witcher is not one to undergo lightly. Any regret or uncertainty during The Trial can be disastrous.

“Therefore we are giving you all a two month reprieve. You are to leave Kaer Morhen. You may ride as far or near as you wish, but you must go into the world. You have two months to live life as normal men. 

“None will judge you if you do not return at the end of the allotted time. However, if you return so much as a day late, you will consider your position among us forfeit as the potions we give you to make you strong will have left your body.

“The time has come for you to leave us. Enjoy your time away, and be careful. You are dismissed.”

All the training Witchers rise and shuffle from the dining hall. Murmurs spread rapidly through the group, the young men discussing where they intend to ride. Most want to spend as much time fucking as they can, and intend to ride to the closest village with a halfway decent whorehouse then spend the two months there. 

Geralt wants to be free of the shadow of Kaer Morhen. Its dark walls are all he’s ever known. He can’t make a choice when it’s staring him in the face. So he plots a route that takes him as far from Kaer Morhen as he can while still getting time to learn the village. 

He hopes his adventure is worth it. 

The mare he is given is chestnut, and has a good thick mane. The best part is that she actually likes him, not a given he has learned. He thinks if they get to pick their horse when they pass the trails he’ll ask for this one. If he passes. Still no guarantee of that happening. He has to remember that.

They all leave as one group. Most riders split east, heading for the nearest town. Geralt travels a bit further with some of the other men. Then it’s just him.

As much as he feels alone in Kaer Morhen, always slightly different than his brothers, it is nice to have time genuinely alone. No Eskel or Lambert to spring on him when he’s just trying to take a piss. 

There’s more noise here than at Kaer Morhen too. Despite the monolith housing upwards of one hundred trainees, and some fully trained Witchers when they stop by every now and then, it is always like a funeral hush. On the road he can hear the world live.

A hare bounds across the lane. Birds chatter overhead. Somewhere nearby he can hear a brook babbling away, merrily obeying it’s inevitable path to a larger body of water. Geralt feels oddly at peace.

That first night he spends under the stars. 

He follows the sound of the brook as the sun starts to set, and ties the mare off on a tree close enough that she can water herself if she wants to. Then he sets about finding wood for a fire. Just as the last few rays of the sun disappear beyond the horizon, his fire crackles to life. He spreads out his bedroll and nibbles on a bit of bread and hard cheese he was allowed to take with him. He thinks it might be worth it to collect some supplies as he goes. He doesn’t want to rely too heavily on the rations he packed.

He settles down for some rest. He can hear creatures moving through the underbrush, but his fire keeps them well at bay. He sleeps better than he ever has at Kaer Morhen.

He is awoken in the morning by the mare nosing him. The sun is just starting to warm. He rubs her nose and gives her a couple thin slices of apple when he cuts one for himself.

He decides against the idea of fishing. It could take hours before he catches anything, and he doesn’t want to burn day light. He’s on a rather tight schedule. So he puts out the last smouldering embers of his fire, mounts the mare, and continues down the road.

He stops around midday and eats a few more of his rations, giving the mare some down time. His luck holds and he is able to catch a rabbit. He makes quick work of cleaning and cooking it so that it will hold for another day or so.

He reaches an actual town that night, but he’s loathe to part with too much coin before he reaches his destination. He spends a bit to get the mare a proper stall for the night, and to get a some ale at the tavern. It’s weak, and tastes like piss. But it’s not Kaer Morhen Ale so it makes the taste novel to him. He drinks both pints.

He beds down in the stall with the mare. The hay is clean, and sweet smelling, and only the tiniest bit itchy. Sometime before sun up the mare wakes Geralt again. This time it is with an alarmed whiney. She stomps her hooves and tosses her mane, eyes rolling.

There’s a mouse in their stall. A fucking mouse. Not even a rat. And the mare is acting like the stables are on fire.

“It’s just a mouse.” Geralt grumbles at her and scoops the tiny creature in his hands, and deposits it safely outside the stables.

He rides out again at first light. He splurges a little bit more coin on breakfast. Just some oatmeal, but the tavern keeper’s wife seems to have taken a fondness to him so she puts in a little honey. It’s the best oatmeal he’s ever had. 

His journey continues in such a fashion. Mostly he sleeps under the stars. Sometimes though he’ll stop at a tavern and get a meal or a drink.

He reaches the town he was aiming for at the end of the second week. It is a little village on the northern coast. It is nestled in the stretch of beach between two mountains. The crashing of the waves echoes all around him. There’s salt in his hair, and sand in his saddle bags. The wind is cold, but not biting like the air in Kaer Morhen.

The tavern is warm, and smells faintly of brine. As Geralt enters it is obvious that this is a local place that the fishermen come to after a long day of hauling nets. They eye him with suspicion. No doubt they don’t get many visitors here at the edge of the world.

He approaches the bar, and the floorboards squeak a bit under his boots. 

“How much for a room?”

He winces a bit at the price. Even if he hadn’t spent any coin on the road he would not have been able to afford the cost. He thanks the man, and just orders a bit of food and drink. He supposes it own’t be too bad to sleep in the stall with the mare again. They seemed clean enough. Still he would have liked a bath. The hot springs at Kaer Morhen were always his favorite place.

There’s a young man about Geralt’s age, maybe a few years younger, rather aggressively playing his lute in the middle of the room. He’s good even to Geralt’s untrained ear.

Geralt takes his plate to the furthest corner and settles in. Someone at the bar yells “Shut up, Jaskier!” and chucks a fork at the young man playing his lute. 

“You’re always so ungrateful! I was singing about the sea!” The young man, Jaskier presumably, shouts back.

“And when you’ve actually been on the sea then I’ll stop my complaining,” the man says, “Let me enjoy my food in peace.”

Jaskier sniffs regally and turns away from the man at the bar. His blue eyes land on Geralt, and are immediately filled with mischief. He picks his way across the floor, deftly avoiding tables, patrons, and staff. When he reaches Geralt he grins, and places his foot on the bench opposite Geralt.

“I do love a man with curls.” he says and Geralt refuses to react. He’s already been told that when he becomes a witcher he’s going to have to figure out a way to get rid of said curls.

The lack of response doesn’t at all deter Jaskier. Instead he sinks onto the bench in a way that is probably meant to be seductive but is just ridiculous.

“Oh come on,” he teases, “You already know my name. Can’t I know yours?”

Against his better judgement, Geralt answers.

“Geralt,” Jaskier says as if testing out the way it feels in his mouth and Geralt absolutely does not think about how nice his name sounds coming out of that mouth, “You’re not from around here, Geralt.”

Geralt hums in agreement.

“Do I get to know where you’re from?”

“Further north.” Geralt responds noncommittally. 

“Fine. Fine. Don’t tell me. Stick with this whole mysterious brooding thing you have going.”

Geralt smiles a bit at that. He has never been considered brooding or mysterious before.

“Ah so you do smile!” Jaskier says triumphantly.

Geralt just shakes his head.

Jaskier reaches a hand across the table, and catches the hand Geralt isn’t using to feed himself, “Where are you staying tonight?”

Geralt shrugs, “WIth my horse.”

Jaskier gasps as if personally affronted by that, “Nonsense. Why don’t you just stay here?”

“Low on coin.”

“Stay with me then.”

Geralt gives him a flat look.

“Yes that was a bit of a come on,” Jaskier admits, “But I do really mean it. The sofa in my room has to be far more comfortable than a cramped stable stall.”

“I’ll be fine.” Geralt says and stands.

“Then at least let me show you around the town during your time here!” Jaskier calls after him.

And once again, against better judgement, Geralt says “Fine.”

Jaskier grins at him. There’s a triumphant look in his eyes that draws another small huff from Geralt. He may as well make a friend while he’s here. That was the whole point of leaving Kaer Morhen, enjoying the real world.

He pays the woman at the bar her coin, and emerges back into the town. It’s dark now, but the unobstructed view of the horizon from the beach means Geralt can just see the last weak rays of sunshine on the water. When the sun has stopped shining even on the sea, Geralt returns to the stables and beds down with the mare.

The hay is a little damp. Though, everything here is a bit damp from the sea. The stables are well built, and the cold sea wind doesn’t find it’s way in. Even the mare seems to be happy with the arrangement. She nuzzles him as he enters, and again after he’s settled in.

He doubts Jaskier will remember their plans to explore tomorrow. No doubt he has already moved on to someone not too stubborn to share his bed. The offer was still nice. Geralt can’t remember the last time he was offered anything. Perhaps when he was a child, before Kaer Morhen. It’s going to be difficult to go back.


	2. Chapter 2

Geralt rises with the dawn. It’s been drilled into him for over twenty years in Kaer Morhen. You rise with the dawn, and train until breakfast. 

The mare still dozes peacefully in her stall, and Geralt sees no need to rouse her. They’ve been travelling for close to two weeks, she deserves her rest. 

He frees his swords from where he’d hidden them under the hay in the stall, and heads outside. The air is cool, and mist clings to the buildings. It makes the whole town appear hazy, like Geralt is still dreaming. 

There’s an empty space behind the stables, probably used to exercise the horses when they aren’t going to be ridden for a while. It suits Geralt just fine. He draws his steel sword and moves into the center of the field.

He moves through his forms without thinking. At this point they’ve become second nature. He finds it meditative. Step, swing, step, thrust, step back, duck, swing, step. He lets the patterns flow through him. He is vaguely aware of time passing, the sun rising. His muscles start to protest, and sweat starts to bead on his forehead.

He also becomes vaguely aware of someone watching him. He ignores them and continues with his training. When the town begins to bustle with life, and the first fishing boat of the morning shuffles off the beach, Geralt finally sets his sword down.

He’s surprised to find the person watching him is Jaskier. He’s perched on a barrel not far from the stable, head cocked to the side, something like awe in his eyes.

Geralt approaches him cautiously, “Didn’t think you’d be up this early.”

“Well I had a feeling that the man I promised to escort was a bit of an early riser,” Jaskier says with a grin, “And aren’t I glad that I was right? That was impressive.”

Geralt shrugs, and scoops up some water from the trough used for the horses.

“Introduce me to your horse?” Jaskier asks.

“Why?”

“Humor me?” Jaskier asks, batting his lashes.

Geralt’s face wrinkles in confusion, and he leads Jaskier inside. The mare is awake and she chuffs happily when she sees Geralt.

“What’s her name?” Jaskier asks

Geralt blurts the first thing that comes to mind, “Roach.”

Jaskier’s mouth opens and it hangs like that for several moments, before snapping shut, “Interesting name.”

He approaches her, and gently strokes her nose. She butts his chest affectionately, “This is amazing.”

“SHe’s a very fine horse.” Geralt agrees.

“No. Well, yes,” Jaskier says, turning towards Geralt, “But what I meant was that it’s a surprise that she likes me.”

Geralt chuckles a little, “Horses don’t like you?”

Jaskier grins back, all bright and goofy, “No idea why. Dogs? Love me. Cats? Love me. Horses? Until this one, they have all tried to bite me.”

Geralt just shrugs at that. What can he say? He highly doubts Jaskier mistreats animals, Roach wouldn’t let him within ten feet if he did.

“Can I buy you breakfast?” Jaskier asks

“You’ll go broke trying to feed me.” 

It’s true, ever since he reached the point in training where they began dosing him with the potions to make him strong enough to accept the mutagens, he’s been ravenous. He’s been hungry since leaving Kaer Morhen.

“A risk I am willing to take.” Jaskier says and nods his head towards the inn, “Come on.”

Breakfast is the best meal Geralt has ever head. Buns still warm from the oven, juicy sausages, and fresh fruit. It must be costing Jaskier a fortune.

“How can you afford all this?” 

“I’m a viscount.” Jaskier shrugs like that doesn’t matter in the least. 

“And you let people speak to you that way?” Geralt asks.

He’s never met a viscount, but Vesemir has. According to him they’re all arrogant men who think they’re too good for the position they’ve been given. Collecting taxes to line their own pockets instead of care for the people they are responsible for. 

“I’m not a very good viscount,” Jaskier says with a slight wince, “I fully intend to let one of my brothers inherit that title instead.”

“And if you’re not a viscount?”

“I’ll be a bard. That’s why I’m here actually. I’m in the process of completing my training for the University at Oxenfurt.”

Geralt frowns a bit, but Jaskier seems to have an uncanny ability to read Geralt’s mind.

“I’m here because we were required to prove we could make it as a travelling bard. This is the last stop I make before I return to Oxenfurt at the end of next month.”

Geralt grunts and eats another berry off the plate.

“Are you ever going to tell me why you’re here?”

Geralt shrugs, “Maybe.”

Jaskier’s eyes narrow, glowing a very deep blue in the grey light, “I see. Have to earn your trust then.”

“Something like that.”

*

Jaskier is back again the next day. He watches silently as Geralt moves through his forms, and gives Roach a bit of exercise. He buys Geralt breakfast much as he did the day before, and lays on the compliments about the dark curls of his hair.

When Geralt is done eating, he takes geralt by the elbow and leads him out.

“Thought we could go to the market today. Unless you have any objections?”

Geralt just shakes his head.

The market isn’t nearly as big or crowded as Geralt expected. There are maybe thirty stalls, and the locals weave lazily in and among them. Occasionally a wife will stop to chat with a vendor she knows. A couple men clap each other on the back, roaring with laughter.

Jaskier bobs through the crowd easily, never breaking stride, and his hand remains on Geralt’s elbow, warming it even through Geralt’s shirt. Jaskier also babbles away as they walk, pointing out each stall as they pass. He seems to know the names of every single vendor, exactly what they sell, and which ones are having affairs with each other.

“It’s a small town without much else to do.” he says easily.

They reach the stand he was apparently looking for, and come to a stop. It sells various metal works. Some ornamental daggers, rings, medallions. Jaskier seems enthralled by the intricate shininess of it all, and even Geralt is impressed with the tiny details he sees. Still he has no use for any of it, not that Jaskier would know.

“What do you think of this dagger?” Jaskier asks, holding one out to Geralt.

He takes it into his hand, weighing it carefully, “Wouldn’t cut even you.” 

Jaskier places his hands on his hips, “Are you calling me weak, or the dagger faulty?”

“Both.”

Jaskier gasps as if he’s been mortally wounded, “After the breakfasts I bought you, you treat me like this?”

The effect is somewhat ruined by the fact that Jaskier hasn’t moved away from Geralt one bit, and is still entirely invading his personal space.

“It’s decorative.”

Jaskier huffs and turns away from Geralt to continue leaning close enough to the goods so that his breath creates little clouds on the surface of the metal. Geralt intends to let his mind wander as he waits for Jaskier to be done, but instead something catches his eye. A ring. Hardly anything fancy, but it’s surface shines a brilliant silver, and blue-stained etched line circles the circumference.

“It’s pretty.” Jaskier says, starling Geralt slightly.

“Can’t afford it,” Geralt responds, “Anything else you want to show me?”

But Jaskier turns away from him to get the attention of the vendor, and before Geralt quite knows whats happening, Jaskier has bought the rng and is slipping it onto Geralt’s right index finger.

“Brings out your eyes.” he says as if that is the explanation for everything.

If Geralt twists said ring back and forth in the dark of Roach’s stall, while smiling. Well… no one needs to know.

*

It’s about a week before Jaskier asks him to come watch his performance again. Geralt claims that its only the promise of a free dinner that makes him come. They both know better.

Jaskier is an entirely different person on stage. While the day crowd seem to be irritated by him, the evening and night crowds adore him. They hang on his every word, and movement. He hears more than one young girl sigh when Jaskier tosses a wink to the crowd.

He sidles up to Geralt once he’s done, no doubt disappointing many of his fans. A huge grin is spread across his face, and he’s gleaming with sweat. He has a tankard of ale in one hand, and his lute in the other. He leans eagerly into Geralt’s space.

“So what did you think?”

“Not bad.” Geralt replies because the real answer, that it was mesmerizing, seems too real.

Again Jaskier’s uncanny ability to read Geralt rats him out, and Jaskier;s grin widens just a bit. He’s still slightly breathless from the last song.

“I’ve had worse reviews.” Jaskier says, leaning even closer.

He seems to be waiting for something, but Geralt hasn’t the faintest what it might be. Jaskier cocks his head to the side slightly, staring deeply into Geralt’s eyes. Geralt feels the need to pull away from those eyes, too blue, too inquisitive. Jaskier rolls his eyes, and leans closer still, sealing their lips together.

Geralt is frozen in place. It’s as though his mind is caught in the moments just before the kiss, unable to reconcile shitty ale, and Jaskier’s mouth on his his.

Jaskier pulls back, forehead crinkled anxiously, “Sorry. I misread--”

“No.”

“No?”

“It was fine.” Geralt says, eyes still a bit unfocussed.

“By far the worst review of my kissing since I was a boy,” Jaskier says indignantly but smiles a bit at Geralt, “Was it fine enough to come to my room?”

*

Geralt wakes with the dawn, and finds himself surprisingly comfortable and over-warm. It takes him a moment to recognize the arm slung over his chest as Jaskier’s. Then he smiles, and nuzzles Jaskier’s hair.

He lets out a small sigh, and starts extricating himself from Jaskier’s grip. He needs to train.

A disgruntled hum comes from Jaskier, and his grip tightens on Geralt, “Too early.”

“I need to train.”

Jaskier lets out another whine, and snuggles deeper into Geralt’s chest.

“If you want me to keep the shoulders you were babbling about last night, then I have to train.”

The pressure is abruptly released. Geralt snorts.

*

“You still haven’t told me why you’re here.” Jaskier points out many nights later.

Geralt’s head is resting in Jaskier’s lap, and Jaskier is keeping himself entertained by wrapping Geralt’s curls around his fingers.

Geralt grunts in response.

“Oh come on. Just a little hint?” Jaskier asks.

“I’m training to be a witcher.” Geralt admits.

Jaskier’s hands pause in his hair, curls still tangled around long clever fingers.

“But I thought you didn’t reenter the world until you were fully fledged witchers.”

“Test of loyalty. If we want to be witchers, then we’ll return at the end of our time away.”

Jaskier goes back to playing with Geralt’s hair, but for once he doesn’t respond.

*

Darkness has long since fallen outside. The only light comes from a candle Jaskier swiped from the inn. He’s pulled Geralt out of bed several hours after they had dozed off for the evening, claiming he wanted to show Geralt something.

Geralt is quickly regretting his choice to let Jaskier drag him around. The cuffs of his trousers are soaked through, and he keeps almost slipping in the sand.

“For fuck’s sake Jaskier, this couldn’t have waited until morning?”

“Nope.” Jaskier responds, sounding far too cheerful, “And do watch for the puddles.”

Geralt steps into puddle that comes right up to his knee just as the warning comes out of Jaskier’s mouth.

“You’re lucky I don’t want to kill you.”

Jaskier just laughs, and steps up onto an outcropping of rock. Geralt follows close behind. They follow the outcropping of rock a little ways until it meets an overhang. With a little manoeuvring they find themselves standing at the entrance of a cave.

“Close your eyes.” Jaskier instructs.

“What? I’m not--”

“Just do it.” Jaskier says, and Geralt knows him well enough at this point to hear the roll of his eyes in his voice.

Geralt does as he’s told, and lets Jaskier guide him the final steps.

“Okay. Open.”

The cave is glowing. 

It isn’t because of Jaskier’s candle either. The cave is sheltered from the rough ocean waves, but small ones still lap at the edges of the rock, and in the tidepools. Each time the water is disturbed it glows a brilliant silver-blue.

“It’s called red tide. For a few weeks every year, the water goes a reddish-brown during the day, but at night it glows.”

The light reflects off some of the mineral deposits in the cave, causing even the walls to glow just faintly.

Jaskier pushes a flat rock into his hand, and then steps to the very edge of the outcropping and skips his own stone across the water in the mouth of the cave. Each time the rock skips off the water’s surface, it leaves a glow in its wake. 

They spends until first light seeing who can skip their stone the furthest.

*

“Why don't you come say that to my face like a man instead of a coward?!” Jaskier yells

The patron who’d heckled stands up, and has at least thirty pounds, and six inches on Jaskier. He advances on Jaskier, and Jaskier seems uninclined to back down.

The dining room of the inn has erupted into a madhouse. Everyone seems to be egging on the fight, eager for something interesting to happen in their town at last.

Geralt downs the last of his ale with one gulp, and stands up. People scramble out of his way so as not to be bowled over, and he reaches Jaskier unimpeded.

“Come on, Jas.” he says softly

“No! This bastard had something rude to say about my art, and I’d like to see if he has enough balls to say it to me directly!”

Geralt rolls his eyes, bends his knees slightly, and then hoists Jaskier over his shoulder. It doesn’t seem to bother Jaskier in the least. He still claws the air like he’s somehow going to get free of Geralt’s grip and head back into the fray. He’s spitting like a wild thing, and that does something for Geralt.

*

“I leave tomorrow.” Geralt says softly.

Jaskier nods, a dark cloud briefly passing over his face before he lights up again, “Well, any last hurrahs before you go?”

*  
The dawn light barely illuminates the room. Jaskier is asleep on Geralt’s chest like he has been every night for the better part of six weeks. His skin looks deathly pale this early, and he’s so still he could almost be mistaken for dead if not for the steady huffs of breath Geralt can feel on his chest.

He buries his face in Jaskier’s hair one last time, breathing slowly. He never thought it would be this hard to go back. 

Slowly, he shifts out from under Jaskier. He’s learned now how to rise without jostling Jaskier awake.

He hunts around the room for his things. Slowly he dresses, keeping his eyes trained on Jaskier, unwilling to give up these last few glimpses of him. 

One of his boots is tucked half under the bed, and he crouches down to retrieve it. As he moves to step away, a hand catches his wrist. Jaskier stares at him blearily from the bed. His calluses scratch against Geralt’s skin.

“I have to go.” Geralt reminds him.

“Don’t.”

“What?”

“Don’t go. Stay with me, and then we can go back to Oxenfurt together.” Jaskier pleads.

“What would I do?”

“You could be my guard. Protect me while I’m on the road.”

Geralt shakes his head softly, “I can’t.”

Jaskier nods jerkily, and releases Geralt’s wrist. Geralt’s insides twist painfully. He slides the ring off his finger, and tries to hand it back to Jaskier.

Jaskier shakes his head, and pushes it back into Geralt’s palm, “To remember me by.”

Geralt slips it back into place, suddenly feeling the weight of it much more keenly.

He finishes packing his things, and stands awkwardly next to the bed. He huffs a bit, and then thinks _fuck it_. He can’t leave without a proper goodbye now that Jaskier is awake.

He gets one last kiss before his long ride back to Kaer Morhen.


	3. Chapter 3

Fire courses through his veins. It swallows him from the inside out, and even screaming doesn’t seem to help. His jaw aches from clenching so hard.

The fire fades, but his bones ache like they haven’t since he was a growing boy. He is too weak to lift his head, and see which of his brother’s survived. Someone gives him some water, and it helps a little. Not enough to ease the ache in his bones, but it helps the headache.

He is still for hours… days? But eventually he sits up on his own. He’s been moved to private quarters somewhere deep in Kaer Morhen. He must have passed the trials then. Only Witchers get private rooms.

He stumbles for the door, leaning heavily on the chair at the desk as he goes. At some point someone filled the bath in the next room with steaming water. He sinks into it with a loud moan, and finally the aches start to ease.

When the water cools, he climbs out of the bath, and catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Gone are the dark hair, and blue eyes.

Good thing he wasn’t too fussed about his looks.

At least they let him keep the ring.

*

Butcher, they call him. They aren’t entirely wrong. His job is death, even if it is well-deserved.

*

He chooses the tavern based on the smell. It’s piss to bread ratio, leans more towards bread than piss. He would, of course, have loved to go to one of the nice ones in town, but he was unwelcome there long before he became the Butcher of Blaviken.

He settles into a dark corner, and enjoys silence and some ale. It’s the closest thing to peace he gets these days.

A bard begins to play his lute, singing a borderline offensive song about abortion. While the song is terrible, the bard’s voice is not. In fact it’s quite familiar.

Geralt’s stomach drops. Jaskier.

He huddles deeper into the corner. There should be no reason for Jasker to recognize him now. Not when Geralt has been converted to an almost-monster.

He doesn’t want Jaskier to recognize him.

Jaskier stops singing when people start pelting him with bread. Geralt is half afraid that Jaskier is going to start a fight like he did that night on the coast. Instead, he just tells the crowd to fuck off, and begins taking his due with freebread.

Then his gaze focuses in on Geralt.

Geralt’s stomach twists. It is too much like the first time they met. 

His blue eyes land on Geralt, and are immediately filled with mischief. He picks his way across the floor, deftly avoiding tables, patrons, and staff. When he reaches Geralt he grins, and leans against a pillar.

“I love the way you just… sit in the corner and brood.” Jaskier says, taking a deliberate sip of ale.

Different pick up line, same man.

“I’m here to drink alone.” Geralt says harshly.

_Please don’t come any closer. Please._

That only seems to pull Jaskier in. He sits across from Geralt, hassling him for a review of his performance.

Geralt thinks he would prefer the burn of the mutagens over the way his heart clenches painfully in his chest. He keeps his hands hidden. He can’t let Jaskier notice the ring.

“I knew a man once, who was in training to be a Witcher.” Jaskier says conversationally.

Geralt grunts, and looks away out the window.

“Maybe you know him?” Jaskier asks, and there’s definitely hope in his voice.

Geralt hates to dash it, but he can’t face Jaskier knowing he’s a monster, “Unlikely.”

Jaskier squints then, and Geralt remembers how good he was at reading his every thought.

“Geralt?” he asks gently.

Geralt doesn’t react. Then Jasker is diving across the table, and he grabs hold of Geralt’s right hand before he has time to move away.

“Holy fuck.” Jaskier breathes

Geralt snatches his hand away, and strides outside, ignoring Jaskier hot on his heels.

“Geralt wait!” Jaskier shouts.

Roach is in his line of sight.

“Fucking witcher! Slow down!” Jaskier shouts again.

Geralt only slows because attention is being drawn to him. Unwise given his reputation as the Butcher.

Jaskier catches up to him then, grabbing a clasp of Geralt’s armor so tight his knuckles go white. With his free hand, he traces Geralt’s face. His fingers are feather light, calluses still rough. 

Geralt closes his eyes against the tenderness. He can’t bare to see Jaskier look at him that way.

“What happened?”

“Mutagens.”

Jaskier sucks in some air, and his fingers press just a little harder against Geralt’s skin. Jaskier still smells like Jaskier. That is perhaps the hardest part, one whiff of Jaskier’s soap and he’s transported to that little room on the coast.

“I’m sorry.”

“Nothing you could have done.”

Jaskier shifts, and he presses the gentlest kiss on Geralt’s lips. There, and gone again.

“I will never leave your side again.”

And, somehow, Geralt believes him

**Author's Note:**

> Come Visit me on tumblr for more Witcher! https://thenerdyindividual.tumblr.com/


End file.
